


Not Such A Lone Wolf After All

by Quarra, xantissa



Series: No Wolves Allowed [3]
Category: Castlevania: Lords of Shadow, Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Anal Sex, Claws, Cock & Ball Torture, Dom/sub Undertones, Don’t copy to another site, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feelings, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, Knifeplay, Knifeplay with the claws, Light Pain Play, M/M, Non explicit brief mention of child abuse rape and death, Porn with Feelings, Romance, Smut, Some Fluff, The incest is really background information
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-18 01:09:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16985253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quarra/pseuds/Quarra, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xantissa/pseuds/xantissa
Summary: Geralt has a shitty week. Dracula unexpectedly visiting makes things a little better.AKA:Fluffy, smutty hurt comfort with a liberal sprinkling of claws.





	Not Such A Lone Wolf After All

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is set shortly after No Wolves Allowed. You can probably read it as a stand alone? But the first fic will give you a lot of context.
> 
> Notes from Quarra: Folks. Please remember that lube is your friend. Especially if you are not a super powered killing machine with magical healing potions. Treat your ass kindly.

Geralt tossed his pack into the corner of the room. It wasn’t a great inn, certainly not anywhere close to what he could have afforded if he wanted to, but this was the type of place where people went looking for sellswords. This is where he would stay.

Even renting a room at all was an indulgence. Oftentimes he skipped sleep altogether in favor of an hour or two of meditation by a fire.

But right in this moment, Geralt wanted the alone time. 

Or perhaps, more accurately, he did _not_ want the alone time. He wanted to be wrapped up in a lover’s arms. He wanted to be touched and held and to feel good for at least a little while. 

Unhappiness rolled in his stomach, and he sat down on the bed with a heavy thump.

He had been in a foul mood for the last five days, ever since he realized that the case he was working on was not one, but two cases. Young boys and girls had been disappearing from a small village every few days. He thought he had solved the problem, but he’d only gotten it half right.

Yes, there were youths taken from the village by a wraith, but the last three elven girls were not killed by the spirit. They were kidnapped and sold to an usavory brothel barely a day’s travel from their homes. By the time he tracked them down, one was already crippled for resisting too hard and the remaining two were already raped and traumatized. 

Geralt got them home, but he felt like such a failure. He should have known earlier, should have realized that the three elven girls didn’t match the pattern. If he only caught on faster, he could have gotten them out before it was too late. 

Drinking sounded like a terribly amazing plan. Geralt wanted the numbness that heavy booze could grant, but he had to be on the road in the morning, by dawn if he could. The sheer amount of liquor it would take to get him drunk enough to not care about his piss poor week would take far too long to run through his body. Not if he was to get on the road as early as he wanted to be, anyways. He could take a potion to cleanse himself of it, but that sort of negated the point of getting smashed. 

He wasn’t even all that hungry, so eating seemed useless. A good brawl could have taken off the edge, but he’d done a lot of travelling. Because of that, he hadn’t been in a fight since he let loose on the brothel guards. Not like they gave him much of a fight, either. Beating on barely teenage girls was a different matter than fighting a pissed off witcher.

He lazily spun the silver wolf medallion in his hands and thought of Dracula and Alucard. Geralt missed them like he would a limb. He’d take the portal and go to the castle in a moment if not for the fact that he already knew there wouldn’t really be enough time. There was also the fact that time passed strangely in the castle. He could never be sure just how long he spent there. The shift wasn’t huge but it was enough to make planning a night trip impossible.

As always there were monsters to kill and work to be done. The longer he waited the more people would die. 

If this were a few months earlier Geralt would have happily fallen into bed with one, or more, of the local working ladies. He knew where all the good ones were already; old habit had him scoping out each brothel as soon as he passed the city gates. 

But now he had a two-fold problem. The first was that Dracula did not share well. Not even a little. Geralt would be sentencing a rather large number of people to death if he decided to get wandering hands. The second part of the problem, and perhaps the more disturbing part for him, was that he simply didn’t want those ladies any more.

He wanted his lovers, Dracula and Alucard, beside him, around him, holding him together and taking him apart. He wanted Alucard’s gentle hands and soft acceptance, his eyes that neither flinched nor judged. He wanted Dracula, with his all or nothing approach to lovemaking. Even one of them would be glorious right now, company and comfort. For all that Dracula said he was incapable of love or of gentleness he was nothing but careful with both Alucard and Geralt.

Geralt sighed heavily, his mouth twisted into a sour frown. Just thinking about them bought a bitter longing to his heart and a burning warmth to his gut. It had been days since he last saw them. Days since he’d _gotten off_ , too. 

He tried to shrug it from his mind, and settle himself for sleep. In places like this Geralt tended to sleep with his gear mostly on, though he did take off his armored jacket. His swords got placed carefully next to where he would lay down and his trophy hook got tossed next to his bag. The knives he kept on him. Years and years of sleeping in combat gear made the discomfort of their presence negligible. 

As he settled himself down on the bed he wondered what Alucard and Dracula did while he wasn’t there, suddenly uneasy in the realization he didn't know. He had this ridiculous image of Dracula brooding in his throne room and, more disturbingly, nothing for Alucard. He couldn’t believe he didn’t ask what they did on a day to day basis. Were they even in the castle? Or did they have separate lives somewhere else?

He stared at the ceiling. The room was dark already, the sun having gone down a couple hours earlier. Only the dying embers in the room’s fireplace were left to light the space. Even without a Cat potion he could still see better in the dark than a regular human, so it was simplicity itself to pick out the woodgrain in the boards above him. 

There was a humming under his skin; something he couldn’t attribute to the long term potions he always kept himself juiced up with. Potions like Cat or Tawny Owl he drank as he needed, but the healing properties of Swallow were too useful, and his life too dangerous, to risk ever going without it. 

But Swallow had never left him feeling like his skin itched, like there was a weight on his body. A crawling, aching need that stretched over him and left him both heated and uncomfortable. 

Again, his mind turned back to Dracula and Alucard. He thought of the three of them on Dracula’s throne, wracked in pleasure, so close that every part of them tangled with the other. The image of Dracula above him raced through his mind. How that hat fiery gaze seared him down to his core while he and Alucard worshiped him on their knees.

He thought of the way Dracula could manhandle him as if he was just a vulnerable youth. Of how the vampire would sometimes put his hand on the back of Geralt’s head and pull him onto his cock so ruthlessly, so deliciously, that all Geralt could do was choke on it and let it happen. 

His cock tightened at the memory of those hands on him and his mouth salivated at the phantom memory of Dracula’s cock on his tongue. Alucard wasn’t any less exciting than Dracula. Just different. He was always slow to start, rarely one to suggest sex at all. But once he got going, he was no less wicked than his father. He would watch Geralt with those golden eyes of his until he saw just the perfect way to get him to lose his mind from desire. 

Geralt remembered the time when he came to the castle, only to be met by Alucard in a barely closed silk robe. The black cloth fell down his pale body like water, framing the smooth skin and thick bruises on his wrists. He smelled like sex. Geralt swallowed at the memory of discovering the trickle of come slowly running down Alucard’s thigh. Gods, he’d never gotten so hard so fast. The way Alucard was all sweet and touchy, melting into Geralt’s arms was a clear indication that Alucard was high as a kite on Dracula’s blood. The younger vampire did all that on purpose. He came out all wrecked and full of Dracula’s come just to drive Geralt to madness. Geralt put his hand on his cock and pressed down, remembering how wet and how damn open Alucard was. They’d fucked right in the portal room; he hadn’t been able to wait even a single second.

This whole situation was irritating as hell. He couldn’t go back to the castle, and couldn’t bring himself to see to his pleasure elsewhere.

 _Fuck it_ , he thought, and untied the lacings of his pants, reaching down to grip himself firmly. The little pleasure he felt at his own hand wasn’t enough, not nearly enough to ease the burning under his skin and the bitter, unhappy mood that plagued his mind. It was what he had available, though. 

After only a stroke or two he gave in and just pulled his cock out, giving himself the space he needed to work himself over. His stamina was no joke and Geralt knew he could keep at himself for a few hours if he wanted to.

Tonight, he wanted to. Something to drive away the day and pass the time until he had to go hunt the next creature. 

The dry slide of his palm sent little sparks of pleasure up his back, and he clenched down. He wished it was Dracula’s hand on him, or Alucard’s. Or both. Working him up, waiting to stick a finger inside of him. Or cock. The idea of taking one of them dry, no prep, tightened his stomach even more. Yeah, he would like to try.

Geralt closed his eyes to picture it. Dracula’s warm body behind him. His hands teasing at every sensitive piece of flesh, delicately scraping across Geralt’s chest with those sharp claws. The heavy fabric and metal of their armor would press into Geralt’s naked body, Alucard above him, and Dracula below. He could almost feel Alucard’s gorgeous silver hair trailing over his stomach, teasing him just as much as those beautiful lips would tease him.

Geralt sped up his hand, his cock already leaking just from thinking about it. There wasn’t enough pressure on him and it made him grunt in frustration. He wanted someone’s weight to press against him; he wanted to feel smooth skin and smell sweat and desire filling his nose. 

He licked and bit his lips and moved his hand a little faster. Geralt tried to remember the how the perfect clutch of Alucard’s body felt around him and the sounds Alucard made when Geralt pushed in a little too hard, a little too rough.

A snarl formed on his lips. This whole evening was unsatisfactory, but it was all he had. He scrunched his eyes closed and tried to focus on what he was feeling. Tried not to think of how alone he was despite the curling power in his chest, the bit of Dracula’s soul he held in trade for his own. 

“Is this---” a low, familiar voice echoed in his ears making him snap his eyes open in alarm, “---what you choose over me?” It was dark now, the room nothing but a kaleidoscope of shadows. Just above him he could see two red spots, banked, barely brighter than the shadows that surrounded them. They were coming closer, lowering themselves towards him. 

Within moments the shadows changed, thickened, and coalesced into a familiar form. The red coat settled over them as Dracula came into being on top of Geralt, his hands catching Geralt’s wrists in bruisingly tight grip. His elongated nails dug into the soft skin there and his power surrounded Geralt as much as his familiar red coat did.

The feel of all that power around him made Geralt shudder and his eyes fluttered closed. He bit his lip and just _moaned_.

“Shitty week,” Geralt said, his voice already rough with unhappiness and strain. “A job went bad. I needed---” He paused, and then swallowed. The ache under his skin hurt even more. “I didn’t have time to come back to you. I didn’t want anyone else, though. This was better than nothing.” He looked up to Dracula’s burning red eyes and knew he couldn’t keep the bitter pain out of his expression.

He’d failed this week and he was tired. 

A wicked, vicious smile carved itself across Dracula’s face. He practically purred in delight. 

“My poor, good, little wolf,” he said in a terrifyingly low growl. 

Just the sound of it made heat roar inside of Geralt; he shuddered and twisted against it and his cock twitched in his hand. The buzz under his skin had reached a fever pitch and his eyes burned. Tendrils of dark power ghosted over his body. It was a sensation he could just barely feel prickling at his skin under his armor.

Having Dracula there was an unexpected gift but having Dracula show up while he was in the middle of jerking himself off was mind meltingly hot. Fuck, he was already so hard and needy that just a few strokes would be all it would take to make him come. He knew better than to expect that, though. Dracula liked to play. 

“Not good enough,” Geralt said bitterly, unable to hold in the seething unhappiness that had moved him to rent a room and get some quiet time. 

“Tell me,” Dracula commanded, and pulled Geralt’s hands up above his head. One hand he kept locked on Geralt’s wrists, hard as a manacle and just as unbreakable. The other he trailed down Geralt’s face and chest. The tips of his razor sharp black claws just barely touched the fabric of his shirt. Any place that snagged too deeply was effortlessly cut.

Seeing those terrifyingly sharp claws so close to his skin made Geralt groan and clench down hard as a fresh drop of liquid dripped down from the head of his painfully hard cock. When Dracula’s hand reached the base of his cock, Geralt nearly started crying. 

“ _Tell me_ ,” Dracula said again, this time very, very carefully trailing the points of his claws up the engorged length of Geralt’s cock. 

“There were kids,” Geralt said with a gasp. “Gone missing. I thought They were killed by a wraith, and I was right, some of them were. But---” He had to stop for a moment to take a slow, stuttering breath. His cock throbbed in time with his heart; it was purple in the dim light and looked so tender and vulnerable against Dracula’s claws. 

He tried to hold still. His chest was tight with it and his muscles burned with how rigidly he held his body, but he couldn’t stop how his hips just barely twitched forward. It was enough that Dracula had to compensate, keeping his pinprick grip on Geralt’s cock light as could be. 

Precome kept dripping out of him in a smooth and slick line that dribbled down onto his stomach. A single, sharp claw caught the string of liquid, and followed it back up to the crown of his cock. There, Dracula slid the side of his claw around the curve of the glans, collecting all the precome there, and just barely scraping the skin. Geralt let out a strangled cry as every nerve screamed at him. It was too sharp, too hard, and oh so fucking perfect. 

His pulse roared in his ears and his chest burned from needing to breathe, and still all he could do was watch and desperately try not to move. All of that dangerous beauty, so perfectly controlled and held against his sex, melted Geralt’s mind a little bit. It felt so good. Sharp and tender, especially against his aching cock, but never once did it past the bounds of too much pain.

It could, though, and Geralt knew it. Dracula was hardly opposed to a little blood play, and Geralt’s own stamina and regeneration guaranteed that most marks on his body would be gone in a matter of hours, if not minutes. The danger of it, the power and control that Dracula needed to have to keep from seriously hurting him, was incredibly fucking sexy.

More than that, the knowledge that all that danger and power were being used to give him pleasure made Geralt want to moan and beg for more. 

Then Dracula lifted his fluid covered claw, sucked it into his mouth, and growled with delight. Now Geralt couldn’t stop himself; he bucked up, desperate for more touch, practically mindless with the need to feel those shining, warm claws on him again. 

Before he could thrust and grind more than twice, Dracula moved his legs to pin Geralt’s thighs down, leaving him both immobilized and spread out for Dracula’s pleasure. With another wicked smile, Dracula shifted his legs, shoving Geralt’s thighs open a little wider. _Displaying him._

Geralt’s cock jerked and leaked, and he whined, long and low. He could already feel his orgasm building inside of him, a powerful heat that made his gut clench and his eyes flutter. He needed to watch, though, almost as much as he needed Dracula’s hand back on him. 

“Please,” he begged, not even ashamed of how needy he was. 

“Tell me,” Dracula said again mildly. “Let me have your grief and your rage, and I’ll let you have your reward.”

Then the claws were back on his skin softly tracing around the shaft of his painfully hard cock, smooth and hot. They ran warm, just as Dracula always did, and each point traced across Geralt’s body like fire. Precome pooled on his stomach and his skin twitched under the labor of not moving.

“I killed the wraith,” Geralt said with a low moan. “But the wraith wasn’t the only one taking kids. It took me days to find the others. Fucking slavers took them. Shady ass whoremasters selling _children_ out by the hour. I found the last three, little elvish girls, but they…” 

Now the tears were flowing freely from him, and the intense pleasure Dracula coaxed out of his body was only a low thrumming counterpoint to the pain in his chest. 

“They were alive, but used. Beaten and broken. One of them crippled.” Geralt lay his head back onto the bed and closed his eyes. Tears ran hot down the sides of his face. Everything was hot and painful, and the pulsing pleasure on his cock got all mixed up with the hurt in his chest. “I was stupid and slow, and some little kids suffered for it. If I’d been better. Faster. Maybe...” The words died in his throat.

He wasn’t better or faster, and nothing now would change his failure. 

The delicate tracing of claws on his cock slowed and stalled out as Dracula hummed quietly to himself. He laid his hand flat down around the base of Geralt’s cock, the root cradled between his thumb and forefinger.

“Geralt,” he said finally. “You are not to blame for their suffering.” Before Geralt could object to that statement, Dracula gave his cock a swift, firm stroke, bringing bone melting pleasure up his body and forcing him to strain against Dracula’s hold on him. Gods, his cock was so hard that it felt painfully swollen, and his balls had drawn up tight. Every part of him clenched down and held as he tried, and failed, to thrust his hips into Dracula’s hot grasp. He couldn’t think anymore, he could only feel. The fight to stay still was long since lost, and only Dracula’s body held him down. The scent of sweat and sex was heavy around him. That was offset by the smell of Dracula and his power, so thick in the air that he could practically taste the embers and power and blood, a scent that had come to mean comfort and pleasure to Geralt. 

“You are not.” Dracula said firmly, and slowly started stroking Geralt’s cock. He could feel how Dracula hadn’t even bothered to retract his claws, just carefully arranged his fingers so that only the flesh portion touched him. But at the end of every up stroke, Dracula curled those fingers in, and lightly grazed Geralt’s cock head with the points of his claws. Each and every time it made Geralt cry out in overwhelming pleasure. He rutted and thrashed and tried to _fucking move_ , just to speed the slow torture up, but Dracula’s hand kept steady. 

“Their pain was caused by other men, and their evil deeds are not yours to take the blame for. You found the girls while they were still alive. They will heal.”

Now the hand on Geralt’s cock started to speed up. A soft, wet little sound accompanied every stroke as hot precome dripped steadly down the side of the shaft. All he could hear was that slick glide and Dracula’s voice, so rough and powerful that it seemed to fill up his head completely. Geralt was mindless with the pleasure of it. His mouth was dry and the tears in his eyes blurred everything around him.

“You, Geralt. You have been so. Very. Good.” Those last three words were all accompanied by hard, firm strokes, and each one caused Geralt to nearly jerk up off the bed, moaning with pleasure and fire burning in his veins. “You did your best to help them. You killed their jailors, I am certain. And…” 

Dracula leaned forward, putting his lips just over Geralt’s; his very presence commanded Geralt to try to look at him. The moment he did, he was lost in those burning red eyes. His whole world had narrowed to the body around him, the hand on his cock, and the lips and eyes in front of him.

“You waited for me, my good, perfect, little wolf. And _I. Am. So. Pleased_.” 

With that, Dracula sealed their lips together, and breathed power right into him.

It burned. Heat and passion searing through him, ramping up the tension already coiling in him so tightly and he yelled into the press of lips against his. His whole body spasmed, clenching down and seizing as he came. His arms strained against the unyielding grip, but to no avail; he couldn’t lift them even an inch. Dracula kept stroking his cock, his hand a tight sheath that Geralt could thrust into as he let out spurt after spurt of come. Dracula kept kissing him, pushing his power and his tongue into him. Everything narrowed down to this reality, to the pleasure coiling and releasing in rhythmic spurts, to the steady pull on his cock, to the lips on him. He had no idea how long it took him to come down. To stop squirming and gasping under the vicious hold of his lover. 

When he did, Dracula was no longer breathing power into him; he was just kissing him slow and dirty, pushing his tongue deep, biting at Geralt’s lips and making sure he had every little bit of Geralt’s mouth well mapped out. His hand was still curled around Geralt cock, stroking him lightly through the aftershocks.

Geralt moaned and squirmed as the oversensitivity started to hit.

Dracula pulled back from the kiss and laughed quietly. His breath fanned over Geralt’s lips, cool and burning hot at the same time.

“Too much?” he whispered. He tightened his grip on Geralt’s dick and gave him another long pull. The tips of his claws just barely brushed the ultra sensitive skin and Geralt moaned at the feel. The grip on him was now slick, liberally coated in Geralt’s own come and precome.

His skin was still just one live nerve. The fire under his skin burning making it hard to breathe, much less speak. Geralt’s heart beat like a trapped wild animal, thundering in his chest and still Dracula slowly, carefully jerked him off.

It was too much, but it was also perfect and everything he needed right in that moment. He wanted to say something but the light, funny words hung right at the tip of his tongue. It was a struggle to gather up enough sanity to speak while his body was still screaming with pleasure and danger and want.

“Since when---” He let out a gasp, right as Dracula’s thumb passed over his glans. Fresh tears leaked down his face, scaldingly hot on his skin. “Since when have you been too much for me?” 

The words were a lie and they both knew it but Geralt needed Dracula’s hands on him, body inside of him. He was still shaking with the need for it.

“I guess it doesn’t matter,” Dracula murmured, his lips dragging across Geralt’s unshaven cheek, to his ear. “I won’t stop until you are hard again, anyway.”

“Fuck,” Geralt managed to gasp. He arched up as he felt the little pinpricks of claws dragging over his sensitive balls, sending shivers of sensation over his skin.

Dracula’s grip was firm and wet. His calloused hand slowly and mercilessly dragged over Geralt’s cock, making him sweat and curse as he writhed under the methodical assault. He would have gotten hard again soon enough but Dracula liked pushing him, forcing him to straddle that line of too much and not enough.

“You love torturing me, don’t you?” Geralt panted out, tossing his head back and grinding it into the hard bed. His arms ached from the way he kept straining at Dracula’s hold. He was hot and sweating, and the cotton of his shirt and undergarments clung to his damp skin. 

Dracula nosed under Geralt’s jaw, pushing it up even more. A groan ripped out of him as Geralt willingly gave up his throat. He didn’t even care if Dracula fed from him or not; he just wanted to give to the vampire whatever he wanted.

“So nice and hot,” Dracula whispered, licking wet stripes along Geralt’s tensed tendons. “All hard in my hand now.” He paused the steady strokes, keeping the shaft of Geralt’s cock firmly in his fingers, but used his thumb to rub over the hard again glans, spreading the mix of pecome and his previous release there. The calluses on his thumb caught on Geralt’s skin periodically, lighting up the still over sensitive nerves. Every so often he could feel the tips of those blood warm claws dragging over the head of his cock; on one occasion tracing the slit and quite frankly driving Geralt out of his mind.

“I want to fuck you.” Dracula nipped gently at Geralt’s neck. He wasn’t biting for real and that seemed somehow _worse_.

Geralt laughed, breathlessly. “I gathered.”

Dracula let up then, pulling up and letting go of Geralt’s arms. The pins and needles sensation rushing over his forearms was just a proof of how strongly the vampire had held him. Geralt rolled his wrists, getting the blood flowing again, and watched as Dracula rose on his knees above him, finally letting go of Geralt’s cock and staring down at him with hungry eyes.

“Turn over,” Dracula rumbled and Geralt swallowed, desire all but choking him. 

Yes. 

Yes, he wanted to turn over for Dracula, to present himself to is lover, and he very much wanted to be fucked right now.

He twisted and eeled in the small space between Dracula’s thighs, feeling the unyielding hardness of them, until eventually he was on his belly, panting into the rough covers.

“Such a pretty, pretty wolf.” Dracula leaned down over him again. His scent was stronger now, all embers and warm skin. When Geralt turned his head, he only caught sight of a naked arm being braced just beside his head. _Fuck_. He spread his legs as much as he could within the restraints of Dracula kneeling over him and arched his back, pushing his ass up. 

“You want it?” Geralt said roughly, so hot he was all but vibrating out of his skin. His hard cock was rubbing against the blankets twisted under him and he thrust into them with a moan, chasing pleasure.

“Ah,” Dracula chided, shifting to catch Geralt’s hips and pull him up, until Geralt had to pull his knees under himself or just hang from Dracula’s grip. “Let me help,” Dracula offered and Geralt couldn't help but let out a ragged laugh. _Help_ , he said. _Help_. Dracula’s idea of help could kill a lesser man.

“Gonna give me a helping hand? Or something else?” Geralt tried to grin, but mostly he just groaned.

Dracula reached under him, letting the tips of his claws dance over Geralt’s hard cock.

“Eventually,” he rumbled before he took the hand away.

Geralt moaned at the feel of his pants being pushed down his hips. Claws scraped tiny, little wounds into the skin of his hips, his ass, and even his thighs. They stung, for just a moment, before his healing took care of the insignificant wounds.

“Very pretty indeed,” Dracula murmured, mostly to himself, and Geralt moaned again when he felt the head of Dracula’s cock brush against his cheeks. The vampire thrust slowly against his skin, smearing trails of precome over his cheeks, on the back of his thighs, and even on his balls as Dracula slowly thrust his cock between Geralt’s legs. It was so hot, so damn exciting to feel the hot, thick head sliding over his skin, leaving the wet trails behind. The scent of it rose up in the air, their sweat and sex, ramping up Geralt’s own arousal.

Dracula wasn’t so careful with Geralt’s shirt. His claws sliced through the cotton like it wasn’t more than mist. Fabric split along his back, and the remnants fell off his shoulders. The cool air felt good on his skin, even as it caused a riot of goosebumps to appear.

Dracula put his fingers, _his claws_ , against the nape of Geralt’s neck. It send a completely different kind of shiver down his back. This was such a dangerous game with those claws on both sides of his spine, but paired with the sensation of Dracula’s cock sliding against his backside, it was astonishingly arousing. 

“Claws or stretching,” Dracula said roughly. He pressed his cock between Geralt’s cheeks, and teased the head at the hole hidden there. Geralt couldn’t help but push back against that hot, blunt pressure, feeling the slickness of the precome be a cool contrast to the heat of that cock.

“Claws, _fuck_ ,” Geralt growled. He fisted his hands into the sheets under him and arched his neck into Dracula’s hold. Whatever Dracula could dish out, he could take. He wanted it. The rough, dry stretch of that thick cock inside of him, making him feel every inch of each thrust. The sharp, beautiful knives at his spine, so smooth and lovely that they might as well be works of art.

“As you wish,” Dracula murmured, putting his other hand on top of Geralt’s back and dragging it down his back. He had no idea if Dracula broke the skin or not. All he could do was moan and arch into the fiery touch.

“Careful now,” Dracula rasped and Geralt felt the still teasing pressure against his hole become firmer, stronger. He moaned and braced himself against that pressure. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he felt that amazingly slow penetration. Bit by bit, his body was giving ground. His hole stretched slowly to let the tip of that hot cock in. He wanted to thrust back, or maybe move away to escape the slow, deliberate pressure. But he couldn’t, not with the claws at his spine. Dracula’s other hand was on his hip; the very tips of his claws rested against the base of his cock.

“Gods.” Geralt shuddered. He let his head fall and his body unclench. Let himself give in, and that thick cock inside.

Slow, so slow. He could feel the hot, wide head working its way into him with only the help of the precome slicked into his hole before. He wasn't sure if it hurt, but it felt so big. The way Dracula was fucking into him, the steady pressure, made Geralt feel like the cock going into him was huge. He was astonishingly aware of the way it stretched him open. 

By the time Dracula was halfway into him, Geralt was panting like a racehorse. He’d completely forgot about his own cock dripping precome between his legs. There was only the feeling of the stretch, the ache, the mind bending pleasure of being so slowly filled. Dracula was an immovable object behind him and his body unflinchingly persistent in what he was doing to Geralt.

“Just like this, pretty wolf,” Dracula growled low and deep. “Open up to me, take me in.”

By the time Dracula’s balls hit his own, Geralt was biting the blankets under him. A low continuous whine squeezed out of his throat and he was all but dizzy with how full he felt.

“Exactly like this.” The hand on his hip slid lower making those sharp claws slide along his hard dick, raising tiny marks in their wake and making him shudder. “Take care not to move too much.”

Geralt whined a touch louder as he felt Dracula reposition. The hand on his cock moved so that the tips of the claws were pressed to his cockhead, all five of them. Even breathing was pushing his cock harder against those sharp tips; anything else and he would be cut open. 

He shuddered. His cock was jerking and spilling precome like mad. A strangled cry erupted from him when when Dracula started pulling out. His cock moved out just as slow as it went in. Excruciating inch by excruciating inch, pulling Geralt’s very soul out as it withdrew. It felt amazing, terrible, and too much as that thick cock slowly dragged back, until the head caught again on Geralt’s tightly stretched rim. He was gasping little ‘oh’s’ at the pull. Geralt wanted to push back. Wanted Dracula back inside of him, filling the aching emptiness. He wanted to ease the stretch, but he couldn’t so much as twitch with the claws at his neck and his cock. When eventually, the head popped free he sobbed in pure frustration. His hole lay twitching and empty, trying to close on nothing.

“And now,” Dracula said in a low, breathy voice. Each word was so smug that Geralt could feel it on his skin. “We get to start all over again.”

And they did. 

Dracula teased the wet head of his cock against Geralt’s pulsing hole. Teasing him, frustrating him to no end before he pushed back in again, just as maddeningly slowly as before. The head went in easier this time. Geralt’s hole was already not quite as tight as before, or maybe he just wanted it more. It gave easier, dragging a groan out of him at the sensation of being breached again. 

Gods, he loved it. Loved the stretch, the sting, the first punch of sensation when he registered the fullness. He closed his eyes and locked every single muscle he had just to stop himself from thrusting back against the cock slowly spearing him. He trembled with how much he wanted to move and how much he wanted to speed the tempo. 

It felt like he was going mad with this waiting, with this forced patience. But every time he so much as breathed too deeply, the wickedly sharp claws pressed into the swollen head of his cock. He was sweating like mad. His body pulsed in rhythm with his thundering heart and all he could do was clench down madly. All the world faded away until just the slow penetration remained. It was all he could think about, all he could feel. There was only the stretch of that thick cock slowly forcing him open and the unbearable heat of those hot balls as they hit his own when Dracula bottomed out in him again. He moaned like whore when Dracula ground into him, slow and hard. With every thrust, his cock dragged over that spot inside that made his balls pull up tightly and his cock jump within the clawed cage of Dracula’s grip.

Geralt had no idea how long it lasted, or how many times Dracula did it to him. Each time he pulled out until his cock popped free and Geralt was left whining around the mouthful of his blankets. His hole was wet and sore, and open enough that he could feel the kiss of cold air on it every time. His muscles trembled and burned from effort of keeping still. The only movement he could do was to pant through his teeth and moan out of his mind with pleasure. Dracula was making sounds, too. Little, stifled noises of effort as he strained to fuck Geralt’s brains out with the slowest, most cruel fuck of his life. 

On the next push in, just before he filled Geralt up completely, Dracula shifted his grip on Geralt’s cock and made his claws drag down from the engorged head down the shaft. Each talon left burning lines of sensation in their wake. Geralt screamed, vision whitening, body clenching out like a tight wire. Then Dracula bottomed out, so big and hard inside him, dragging his cock harshly over that spot inside that caused the burning heat in Geralt’s groin to unravel. 

Geralt was sure he screamed as he came, his cock hardening, jerking, and spilling between those deadly claws. Wave after wave of pleasure swamped him, taking away any control he had. He bucked and yelled. It probably sounded as if somebody was murdering him, but he couldn't care. He couldn't do anything but feel as his mind exploded in amazing bursts of pleasure. 

It was as if a dam had broken for Dracula, and Geralt could feel that clawed grip shift to his hips. The tips of those claws dug in, probably breaking skin, and burned against him as Dracula started fucking into him hard and fast. Dracula’s balls slapped against his own as he ruthlessly fucked Geralt right through his orgasm. With every forceful thrust, every slap of skin against skin, another weak spurt of come was forced out of Geralt and another moan was torn out of his throat. 

When the last tremor passed, he hung useless and weak in Dracula’s grip as the vampire finished off. With the last few vicious thrusts, Dracula’s cock grew inside him that last bit more before he filled Geralt with come. Geralt groaned and pressed his forehead into the damp bedding at the feel of it. The heat of the come inside of him, the sheer weight of the cock filling him, and the warmth radiating off of Dracula beside him overwhelmed every other sensation.

They stayed like that for several long moments, still connected and both panting through the aftershocks. Geralt couldn’t help but moan when he felt Dracula pull out. His cock still wasn’t completely soft and a trickle of wetness followed that withdrawal. He groaned again when the realisation that tomorrow when he was riding out of town he would probably still be leaking some of that come. Fuck, but that only made him wish he had the strength to go another round.

Then he jerked in surprise when he felt Dracula catch him around the shoulders. After a brief moment of movement and confusion, he realized that Dracula was sprawled on the narrow bed with Geralt on top of him.

Geralt let out a little laugh, still high from his orgasm. His head was swimming gently as he let himself be arranged to Dracula’s satisfaction.

“Very chivalrous of you,” Geralt murmured into the pale chest under him, and licked gently to get the taste of his skin. He loved what Dracula did to him, but he wished his lover allowed touch more freely. While Dracula was always generous with giving it to Geralt, he wasn’t really open to receiving it. 

After a moment of lipping along that flat, powerful chest, Geralt finally found a nipple. He decided to stay there, licking and breathing on the small nub. In between licks he paused and waited a breath for it to harden under his attention.

It took a minute or two, but Dracula finally seemed satisfied with how well Geralt was arranged on top of him. He let his still clawed hand trail gently over Geralt’s back, petting with just a hint of those deadly things touching here and there. Geralt couldn’t help but shiver in response.

“I find myself,” Dracula said slowly, voice quiet and low, “feeling unexpectedly protective of you.”

That made Geralt hum happily. He had several people in his life who cared for him, between close friends and his daughter. But few of them felt _protective_. 

“Thank you,” Geralt said quietly, his voice slurred. “Not many people are.” 

Dracula rumbled quietly, and tightened his grip for a moment. 

Geralt’s muscles burned pleasantly with the strain he’d put on them, and his ass throbbed in the best possible way. Pleasurable and painful and wonderful all at the same time. Best of all, that buzzing under his skin, the need to be touched and held, had tapered off under Dracula’s tender mercies.

The gentle stroking down his back continued, and he arched into the feather light touches. 

“You are a unique creature,” Dracula said softly. His hand threaded up into Geralt’s hair and his claws gently combed through the messed up locks. “And you have been so good for me.”

That brought a small grin to Geralt’s face, and he playfully nibbled on Dracula’s nipple. After a soft _hnng_ , he settled back down to rubbing his cheek across Dracula’s chest, just to enjoy the sensation. Gods, it had been days since anyone touched him outside of a fight. 

“I don’t want anyone other than you two. Feels weird. I’m not used to it yet, I think. Hard to be alone.” Geralt tilted his head up to kiss carefully along Dracula’s jaw, relishing the way his lover shifted to allow him more access. “Glad you were here.”

Geralt took a short, sharp breath, and swallowed down the emotion that built up in his chest. “Thank you for being here,” he whispered.

“Having you like this is too much of a treat to miss it,” Dracula said. There was something cat-like in how he allowed Geralt’s attentions. A soft kind of glee as he shifted to encourage Geralt towards the parts he liked best. Geralt followed the movement with a grin, kissing along that strong neck. “Even if I have to deal with this ridiculously uncomfortable bed.”

“Hmmm, feels pretty great to me,” Geralt said with a smug smile. Just to emphasize the point, he squirmed in place, just a little. Just enough for him to enjoy the full length of Dracula’s body under him.  
The benefit of having a powerfully built lover was that no hard bones were poking him anywhere.

Dracula laughed at that, and Geralt could feel it, in how the chest he way laying on shook.

“Am I spoiling you?” Dracula looked at Geralt. “Giving you soft things to lay on instead of the wooden damn bed?”

“Says the man who just nearly flayed me with his claws.” Geralt snorted in amusement. 

“You like them,” Dracula purred, sliding said claws gently over the naked skin of Geralt’s back, and leaving a riot of goosebumps in their wake.

“An unreasonable amount,” Geralt agreed. “One of these days I’m gonna end up fighting something sharp and pointy and I’ll have to portal right back to you both.” 

Another low laugh shook him.

“I’m sure either one of us, or both, will be happy to receive you in such a case,” Dracula promised solemnly.

“Mmmm.” That would be a fun treat. He’d have to keep that in mind. “Funny, though, I think at least half of it is that it’s you two. I like knives, swords, weapons in general, I suppose, but you…” Another shiver raced down his back. “It’s better,” he finally said. “This wasn’t a...frequent thing before you two.”

That earned him another pleased grumble, and those wonderful claws danced across his skin again.

“So, are you going to summon a new shirt for me?” Geralt asked sleepily.

The hand on his back stopped moving.

“I can’t do that outside of the castle, can’t create things out of my power in a world that is not my creation.”

Disappointing, but not unreasonable. Geralt sighed, but nodded. The evening was worth the loss of a shirt. He could pick one up along the way somewhere. 

“Stay with me for the night?” he asked quietly, half expecting Dracula to decline. 

He could feel the low rumble in his lover’s chest more than he could hear it, the sound thoughtful and strangely pleased.

“I will have to go before sunrise,” Dracula answered. “I can stand the sun, it won’t kill me, but it weakens me and is _uniquely_ unpleasant.”

Geralt couldn’t stop the happy little noise he made, and he snuggled into Dracula once more, squeezing him close. He fell asleep with Dracula’s warm body under him and gentle claws running through his hair.

The End


End file.
